Whenever we walk through the cemetery, I make my way to this particular headstone. The inscription intrigues me. I can understand the willow tree, but I wonder what prompted Jacob’s parents—assuming they chose the … Continue reading Strangely Specific
Often, especially when I’m trying to sleep, memories come to me bringing old emotions into the present, leaving me feeling embarrassed or angry or scared—and inevitably tired because they keep … Continue reading The Buried Giant by Kazuo Ishiguro
Well, we did it. On a chilly, overcast morning a week after the autumnal equinox, we hit the trail with the tallest member of our family for our fifty-second walk.
September was here and gone with more stealth than the LEGO bricks that appear under my feet as I run across the room in an attempt to shoo the retching cat so that he … Continue reading Bookends: September 2016
On the autumnal equinox, in 85-degree, sunny weather, we took our fifty-first weekly walk. For the first time, we forgot hats.
We hiked our fiftieth hike twelve weeks after the summer solstice. Only two more to go until we’ve finished the full year, and only one more until astronomical autumn (unless we hike … Continue reading Weekly Walk 50
On Labor Day, eleven weeks after the summer solstice, we took an afternoon family hike, my spouse, the two kids, and me.
I’ve got Black Water by the Doobie Brothers stuck in my head, and I’m glad about it. For at least the past five years, I’ve been thinking a lot about who … Continue reading Keep on Rollin’
I’m not as big a poetry person as I think I ought to be, but sometimes I come across a poem that just speaks to me. Who knew Robert Frost felt … Continue reading The Armful
Ten weeks after the summer solstice, we took our friend Linda hiking again.
August was a month of berry-picking and watching monarch caterpillars turn into butterflies. I love having the monarch caterpillars chowing down on milkweed in my dining room and forming their chrysalides … Continue reading Bookends: August 2016
Nine weeks after the summer solstice, and it’s still summer, although the season seems to be growing a little stale.
Imperfect Happiness 